Page 16 of So Thrilled For You

The whole kids thing . . . I’ve realised it’s a dealbreaker for me . . .

Weird how it’s alwaysafterI’ve had sex with a man that they decide it’s a dealbreaker. No matter how much I delay sleeping with them, they’re always like, ‘Wow, it’s so refreshing to date a women in her thirties who’s not desperate to have kids,’ right up until the moment they ejaculate inside of me. Then, suddenly, it’s like, ‘Actually, the child-free thing is weird. I want childrenafter all.’ Like, I dunno, they’re fucking resentful that the spunk in the condom they’re still wearing has been rejected by me.

I lay my head against the grainy train window and keep rubbing my heart.

Maybe I’m just bad at sex . . .

Then why do men always tell me the opposite?

I was there with Jeremy. I didn’t imagine it. The noises he made. I’m not bad at sex.

Oh my God, for actual fuck’s sake. How dare he send this message right now? How dare he ruin this?

No. I refuse. I will not let him ruin this.

What a coward too . . . sending a message. This man thinks he can be a father when he can’t even dump a woman face to face? The actual cheek of it – this dysfunctional selfish cretin thinking he has any right reproducing.

I am so sick of this happening.

How many times am I going to have to relive this before I meet a man who wants what I want?

Last week, I read this great article about being child-free that summed it up so much. That, initially, you’re called a ‘unicorn’ because it’s so rare and brilliant to be a woman in your early thirties but not desperate to get knocked up. When the situation inevitably comes up around date three, (I now know not to sleep with anyone until at least date three unless I’m very very horny)as it sort of has to when you’re dating in your thirties, I can visibly see men’s faces relax when I tell them I’m not looking to start a family. One literally, theatrically, mopped his brow (didn’t shag him, obviously). But the relief is short-lived. Once they realise they’re out of the frying pan ofquick-quick hurry up, say you love me,move in with me, propose please, you cannot fucking waste my time, I’m 32 don’t you know, it’s actually basically against my human rights to not be sure about committing when every egg I ovulate each month basically crumbles to dust, GET ME PREGNANT YOU FUCKING MAN CHILD or go date a 23-year-old who wasn’t alive when the Spice Girls were Number One . . .Yeah, anyway, once the heat is off them, they have a few weeks of feeling free and thinking I’m the best thing since fucking . . .kimchi. . . and then it switches. It turns to suspicion.

Oh, this article put it so well.‘Childfree and free to be pissed off.’What was that paragraph? The reason I re-shared it, I felt so seen. I sort of wanted all my exes to see it and realise what shits they are.

‘My friends keep telling me to be patient. That soon all the divorcees will be joining the dating pool. Men who’ve had their children, and it’s broken the marriage apart, and how exciting to meet a sexy unicorn woman who doesn’t want her own kids. Perfect. And I’m like . . . “Excuse me. The whole point of being child-free is just that . . . I don’t want children. Let alone to look after someone else’s fucking children every other week.” Also, I’m not particularly attracted to men who leave the mothers of their children. Unless they’ve been chased out of the house at knifepoint (and, to be honest, with weaponised incompetence being as bad as it is, even then I can hardly blame a knife-wielding wife), then I simply cannot get a lady-boner for someone who left the person who grew an actual human for them, almost died pushing it out, and then sacrificed their career, identity, tits and pension raising it . . . But, oh yay, comeinto my dating pool. Let me count my spoils. Mmm mother-leavers. Lucky selfish child-free me!’

God, I loved that bit. I mean, there were other bits of the article I didn’t agree with, and the author didn’t seem particularly nice. But the stuff about the dating was spot on. And here we are. Dumped.

I sigh and return my head to the window, watching the growing suburbs flash by. It hurts. This message really hurts. I can’t believe someone called Jeremy has made me hurt this much. Nobody gets their heart broken by aJeremy. Not that it’s broken. My heart is so toughened these days it’s like a slab of overcooked beef. Jeremy will be forgotten this time next year, just like all the other losers before him who came, saw, lied to me about not wanting kids, conquered, then fucked off and then implied I was the selfish one. But it stings it’s happened today. On the cusp of everything taking off – always there to remind me only one thing is allowed to go right in my life at the same time. Well, if it was a choice between Jeremy or launching the best boutique agency in the UK, Jeremy, you can fuck off quite frankly. I’m going to make a million pounds in the next 72 hours, just you wait.

Steffi:

Aaaand, weirdly enough, grown men who can’t handle having an adult conversation with a woman they’ve slept with are *my* dealbreaker, so I guess we’re even. You’re a child to do this by text. Speaking of the child issue, let’s hope, if you ever have a daughter, they sleep with men who have more respect for women then you’ve just shown me.

I send it and then block him just as we head into another tunnel. I promise myself to be over it by the second we emerge, and, for about seven seconds, as the train roars in my ears, I close my eyes and let myself feel the pain. Then the world turns brighter behind my eyelids. I open them and he’s in the past, alongside all the others. Now, Rosa.Blood Moon.

Nina Baldwin.

What. A. Day.

I need to call her right away. That will cheer me up. Honestly, telling clients they’re going to become published authors is literally the best part of my job. What other careers mean you get to make people’s dreams come true, other than, I dunno, TV game-show hosts? And this won’t be any phone call. Rosa’s going to be richer than she knows what to do with. She can write for a living forever – not that she’ll even need the money after this book. I bring up her number, an authentic smile truly on my face now, and I bash ‘call’. An even better surprise as it’s a Saturday. I told her we wouldn’t hear anything until Monday at the earliest.

My phone beeps instead of connecting. I frown and see I’ve got no reception in this particular blip of suburban hell. The reception bar loads up and I try again, but, nope, we go through a fourth tunnel. I sigh with frustration. I don’t want this phone call to be ruined by bad coverage. I also won’t be able to do it at Nicki’s. I’ll have to wait til I get to the train station and call Rosa then, before meeting Lauren. It won’t take more than ten minutes, and I’ll treat her to an iced coffee from Starbucks to say sorry.

Lauren won’t mind a ten-minute delay, will she? Ten minutes is nothing.

Charlotte

Wow. This house is just perfect for today. Perfect.

Nicki didn’t do it justice when she was describing it to me. In fact, she was practically lacklustre about her parents’ new place, but wow, it’s like Grand Designs-tastic. A glass cathedral in the sprawling downs countryside. I whip out my phone and take some pictures, because that’s surely what the house was built for – content. I put my tray onto the gravel and carefully pluck out one of the cupcakes. I hold it in front of the house and take a picture, uploading it with ‘Here for the baby shower for the luckiest baby in the universe!!!!!!!!! Little Women

reunited!!!!’. I tag Nicki in, even though she rarely uses social media, then Lauren and Steffi. I return the cupcake to its slot in the tray and bend down to pick them up. OK. I have been too ambitious in how much I can carry from the car in one go. I wish I didn’t have such tiny child arms. I hop up the wooden steps to the front door, knocking on the glass with my elbow. As I wait for someone to answer, I notice that the cupcake icing is melting just from two minutes of being out in this heat. No no no. Don’t ruin the perfect swirl of the buttercream. I watched so many videos on how to get the right flick of my wrist for those. People think you angle the piping bag at a 45-degree angle, but you actually want to ice cupcakes dead on. I made two batches of practice cupcakes to get it right . . .

Oh, it’s a shame about the heat. The surroundings would’ve been glorious but everywhere looks like straw. I hope there’s enough fridge space for all the food. I brought three coolersbut maybe I should’ve got five, I— Oh, there’s Nicki. Wow, she is so pregnant!

Through the glass door, I see her slightly warped shape waddle into view.

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